The Night's Beauty
by devotedtodisney
Summary: Leila moves to Paris when she is nine years old to move away from the dangers of Persia. She becomes aware that Persia is not the only dangerous place for her family and is left orphaned at the age of ten. Ten years later she ends up working in the famous Opera house with the infamous Opera ghost just around every corner. Mostly Leroux based.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first fanfiction, so I would appreciate reviews. My Erik is Leroux influence but a little bit lighter than Leroux's Erik. Thanks so much for reading! :)**

The night has always been kind to me. She graces me with the beauty no one else gets to see. The night hides away my monstrosity and makes me feel like a normal human. The moon sheds a delicate light on me while her sister uses her light to bring me under harsh scrutiny. The night is the only lover I've ever known.

The darkness would softly caress me and the moon's light would kiss me upon my bare face, showing me love that no one else could. The stars would listen attentively to my every sorrow and twinkle sympathetically. I dread the day. The daylight's unpleasant light imprisons me inside, reminding me of the monster that I am and the love I will never have. The only desire I've ever had is to have a living wife who can love the monster that I am. But I know that that's all it'll ever be, a desire, for who could learn to love a beast.

Anytime I was forced into the public view people would stare at me. I became use to it but, I could never become immune to it. I knew I didn't belong, how could I? I am a hideous beast that is worse than anything that a nightmare could conjure up. That is the reason I decided to live under the Opera Populaire. I was tired of people and their vain thoughts. I would be grateful to look normal, I wouldn't have to be handsome, just normal but God decided to curse me instead. The sound of footsteps made me aware that Nadir was making his way down to my abode for another one of his visits.

"How are you today my friend?" Nadir asked.

I groaned, how could I have forgotten that today was Sunday? The day Nadir decides to annoy me with his presence. I was very tempted to ignore him, not in the mood to be sociable but sighed in resignation, knowing that Nadir would just make himself at home, no matter what. The man is too stubborn for my liking.

"I have told you that I do not have any friends. You are only an annoying presence that insists on visiting me every Sunday. You have seen that I am still alive, you may leave now." I replied with my usual response. In some strange way I did enjoy Nadir's company but I would never tell him, otherwise he would visit more often.

"Oh come now, you know you enjoy my company. Now stop being an old grouch and set up the chess board while I go make us some tea."

I bristled at the command but reigned in my temper. I would enjoy beating him at chess today. I turned around to start setting up the beautiful chess set that I made one day when I became restless.

"Well somebody is eager to start playing today. You must want to get beaten by the master of chess. Speaking of mastery how is your opera?" Nadir inquired as he set the tea tray down.

"I merely want you out of my house faster so that it will be peaceful here once more." I ignored his second question not wishing to discuss it. My opera is not something I wished to discuss. It is my sacred temple, the place where I can get lost in the music I create and not have to worry about having to find my way out. The music I create is beautiful and it is the only thing that will be beautiful about me. I will never find anything as beautiful as music or the night's beauty.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi, everyone. I hope you liked the last chapter. Please review. It'll really help me continue this story. You get to meet the main character of this story in this chapter. The pronunciation is L-ai-l-uh. It means night or dark haired beauty. By the way, there was a line in the last chapter from Beauty and the Beast. I don't own that line nor do I own the Phantom of the Opera. That right belongs to Gaston Leroux.**

My papa and mama took me to France when I was nine. They told me that Persia was becoming too dangerous for us to live in. At first I didn't understand why they believed my beloved home was so dangerous. We all spoke the same language, wore similar clothes, and ate the same kind of food. To me that was enough to feel safe around my neighbors. But as I started growing up, I realized that my papa _was_ different than the rest of us. He was as pale as a ghost compared to my mother and I. His hair completed his ghostly appearance, the strands so golden they appeared white in the sunlight. For a little while I was almost convinced that he was an apparition because of the strange looks he would always get when we left the house. His beautiful hazel eyes were what helped me believe that he was just a man. They sparkled with such joy whenever he looked at my mother or me. I am ashamed now to say that at one point I was embarrassed of the way my father looked. There was also one more difference between my family and the rest of the Persian society. We were Christians.

My papa was a cultured man who came from Paris to Persia in order to study the unique Persian customs. He loved to learn about foreign countries, especially the fine arts. His passion was music but he loved literature and art, too. My mama was a widow at the age of twenty with no family left on either side. She was left to take care of herself which was a difficult thing for her. She would try to sell bread to people who passed by her home but was not very successful. My papa was passing by her home one day and was enraptured by my mother's beauty. Yes, it sounds shallow, but I understand why my papa was so fascinated with her. She was probably the most beautiful woman in the entire country. But she was also fiercely independent, because of the unfortunate situation she was put in after her husband died, which made many wary of her. My papa decided that he would buy bread from her for the rest of his life if it meant that he would be near her, soon after he started courting her. When my mama was twenty-two they were married and a year after that they had me.

My mama and papa were as different as the night is to the day. My mama had hair as black as onyx, eyes as brown as the paint used on the vases in the market place, and copper skin. She could also be intimidating and strict while my father was friendly and joyous. I loved them both very much which was why I didn't put up a huge fight about moving to France. They had started to feel threaten by our neighbors because they didn't like my father and thought that he was there to steal away their customs and faith. I liked Paris at first, seeing all the pretty ladies with the strange clothes and the huge, beautiful buildings but after we settled down I started to notice the stares that we received form everyone. I became embarrassed about the color of my skin and the way I sounded when I spoke their native language. I had to learn the hard way just how different I really was from everyone else in this country. I finally understood how my papa must have felt in Persia. I had started to miss Persia terribly.

It was only two years ago when my life completely fell apart. I had no idea of the tragedy that was about to strike my innocence. I was on my way back from the bakery; my mama had asked me to go to for a loaf of bread. I arrived at my house to find the front door hanging open on only one of its hinges. A sense of dread filled me as I stared at the gaping hole. As I slowly walked up into the house the smell of death assaulted my nose. Panic encouraged me through the door of hell as I like to call it now.

I ran throughout the house shouting for my mama and papa, praying that they were uninjured and it was all some kind of cruel joke but as I ran into the kitchen I realized that I was being delusional. The sight of my parents' mangled, bloody bodies lying on the kitchen floor made me drop to the floor with grief and shock. It is a sight that will haunt me till the day I take my last breath. What had happened here? Who could have done this to my sweet papa and loving mama? I crawled to my mama and screamed at her to wake up, when she didn't open her beautiful brown eyes, I laid my head down over her heart. No heartbeat. I then crawled to my papa to see if there might be any chance he was alive but came up with the same results. No heartbeat. I laid in between them and cried, thinking that if I gave God enough of my tears and sorrow he would give them back to me.

When neither of them woke I decided that I needed to find someone to help me. I picked myself up off the floor and exited the house. I veered to left going towards my mama's rose garden. I picked two of the most beautiful, perfect roses, refusing to give them anything less, and made my way back towards their lifeless bodies. I gently set the pink roses on their lifeless bodies to show them one last act of my love even though they would never see it. When I stood I looked around the kitchen one last time knowing that it could be the last time I saw it. Not wanting to be in the house anymore, I listlessly walked to my neighbor's house and knocked on the door.

"Leila, what are you doing here? Your parents are going to worry about you if you don't get home before sunset." Mrs. Fournier said as she opened the door.

I searched my brain for an answer to her question trying to decide what to say to her. She must have realized something was wrong because she ushered me inside without another question. Her kind, wrinkled face gave me a little comfort, something that I obviously needed. She made us tea as I still tried to come up with an answer.

"My dear what's wrong? Why is such an ugly frown marring your beautiful face?" She asked.

"I-I, m-my mama an-and papa are...they're dead." I quietly explained.

At first I didn't think she heard me but as I looked up into her wrinkled face I knew she had. Her face was colored with shock. She hugged me to her bosom and tried to comfort me. When she finally released me, her plain, blue dress was soaked. I wiped my face and realized that I had been crying. I looked from her tear-soaked dress to her face only to find that she was looking at me with pity. That was the day I started to despise pity; I didn't want her to pity me. If there was anything in that moment that I wanted, it was for this all to be an awful dream and I could wake up to my papa's beautiful singing and my mama's delicious cooking like I did every other morning. But I knew that that was just the wishful thinking of a child.

"I'll take care of everything dear. Here, let's get you to bed." I wanted to argue and tell her that I needed to be involved but my eyes were drooping so I complied with her. Maybe a little sleep would help me comprehend the terrible situation a little more. She lead me up the stairs to what I assumed was a guest bedroom. The day's events had exhausted me. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Sleep did me no better than if I had stayed awake. My dreams entirely consisted of my parents' dead body and how they managed to get that way. I woke to the sound of voices drifting up from downstairs.

"She showed up on my doorstep looking very lost and tired. I had asked her what was wrong but she didn't respond so I invited her inside." I heard Mrs. Fournier explain.

My curiosity swept aside my exhaustion and I got up and peeked out the door. I couldn't see anyone in the foyer so I crawled closer to the stairs hoping that no one would notice me.

"Did she tell you what happened at her house, madame?" The other person questioned.

I didn't recognize his voice so I knew that it wasn't Mr. Fournier. As I peeked around the corner of the stairs I saw Mrs. and Mr. Fournier and the strange man sitting in the parlor. The stranger was sitting across the Fourniers staring intently at them.

"The only thing she could manage to tell me was that her parents were dead. I didn't try to get anymore information out of her. The poor dear was about to drop from exhaustion."

The man wrote down something and then looked back at the couple but he must have noticed me because he looked directly at me. I pulled myself back around the corner and started to hastily crawl back to my temporary room but stopped when I heard him say something to me.

"Are you the girl that parents have been murdered? If so, I would like to ask you a few questions that could help in our investigation."

I peeked back around the corner to see that everyone was staring up the stairs. I slowly stood and descended the stairs. I walked up to a chair and sat down.

"What happened today concerning your parents, mademoiselle?"

I studied his features, trying to decide if I should trust him. His eyes were a cold and unforgiving gray color and nose pointed out over a blond mustache. I detested the man. He was nothing like my papa. I told him all that I knew which was very little. He seemed disappointed that I didn't know more.

Once the officer left, I walked over to my house once again. There was officer crawling in and out of my house. I entered the house and darted up to the stairs. I swung open my bedroom room and started stuffing anything that was within my reach into bag. I then raced towards my parents' room and grabbed their favorite things: my papa's cigar box and my mama's hair clip. The cigar box could be mistaken as a book if you didn't look carefully which was why my papa enjoyed it so much; he would hide secret presents in it for me and my mama. My mama's hair clip was exquisite Persian finery that my papa bought for mama. On it is two doves kissing while sitting on a branch with blue turquoise paced on the bird's wings and tails and in the leaves of the branch. Once I had packed everything, I went outside to wait for the woman who would take me to the orphanage.

A plain carriage rattled up in front of me and a woman in here forties exited the carriage. Her plain, brown hair was placed into a tight bun that looked as if it were cutting circulation off to her brain. She looked at me as if she was trying to decide if I worth talking to. I guess she didn't think I was. A jerky flip of her wrist gesturing towards the open carriage door was all that she did to communicate with me. I quickly got in not wanting to face her any longer. I had started to despise the woman. I felt bad because I barely knew her, but she obviously thought that she was better than the rest of society. I didn't look at her as she got into the carriage.

"What is your name?" She asked in a quiet, clipped voice. The thought of not answering her crossed my mind but I knew that it would do me no good. It would just get me on her bad side and if I was to live in the same house as this woman I needed to be on at least decent terms with her.

"Leila, my name is Leila Desrosiers." I answered with a quiet voice. She gave me a strange look that I didn't know how to decipher. I wish she would have just left me alone.

"How old are you? You can't be older than ten." Her voice again filled the small space between us. I looked across the carriage towards her trying to communicate that I did not wish to talk to her or anyone else at that moment. Her face showed no emotion telling me that she either did not care about what I wanted or did not understand.

"I am nine years old." Desire to get to the orphanage completely consumed me. I needed air. The small space was closing in on me and the woman across from me was not helping. I had the sudden urge to jump from the bouncing carriage, to escape the cramped space. Pushing the urge down, I finally felt the carriage come to a stop. I quickly moved towards the exit not caring about courtesy. The fresh air helped clear the crazy feelings that filled me. I looked toward my new home feeling despair for it looked nothing like my old home. It was huge, creepy and old. The pale bricks gave the building a dull feeling and the small windows made it seem as if it were more like a prison than a home for the unfortunate children. It was nothing like my old home, which was small but had a vibrant look to it. Our yard was alive with many types of flowers and our home was cramped with the love between the three of us.

Tears had begun to blur my eyes as I thought of all the beautiful memories I had with my parents now becoming too painful to remember. I pushed them aside as I did not want to cry in front of the cold woman who was walking towards the front door. I hurriedly followed after her. She walked through the doors and immediately went to the set of stairs just right of the doors. I ran after her with my heavy luggage. I didn't want to get lost that would have been embarrassing. I counted the stairs as I made my way up thinking that it would help me keep my mind off of the loss of my parents and my new home. Twenty steps up and a quick turn to the right and then fifteen more steps up. We entered a hallway. The woman, whose name I realized I still did not know, turned left down the dull hallway and went all the way down to the room at the end of the hall. I started down the hall and thought that this hallway looked like it would lead me towards my worst nightmare, but I knew that my worst nightmare had already come true. She opened the door and gestured me inside.

"This is your room. Unpack your stuff and then come down to dinner when you are done." She briskly explained. Before I could ask her where the dining room was she disappeared down the hall and into the stairway. I sat on the lumpy bed looking at the luggage that was all that remained of my old life. I started to pull out my clothes so that I could put them away. While doing so I had accidentally pulled my father's cigar box out with one of my dresses. It crashed to the floor. I quickly picked it but realized that something had fallen out of it, a letter. I picked it up and looked at it. I turned it around and saw that there was a seal on it. The seal was a strange one; there was a scorpion imprinted in the wax and its tail looked as if it was ready to strike at an unknown prey. I felt a chill race down my spine as I stared at the letter. I turned the letter over to see who it was from. There was no signature but I realized that the letter was written in French which unfortunately I had not yet become proficient enough to read French.

I put the letter back into my papa's box not wanting to look at it any longer. I dug in my pocket and pulled out my mama's hair clip. I also put that in the box so that I could keep them safe together. After I emptied my bag from my clothes I put the box back into and it hid it under my bed. My stomach started hurting so I made my way out of my room. I looked around hoping to find someone who would tell me how to get to the dining room. When I saw no one I made my way toward the stairs. I quickly descended the stairs feeling as if I would get trapped there forever if I did not hurry. I ended up back by the doors and I looked around, trying to decide which way I had to go in order to find the dining room.

As I stood there I spotted a girl about my age run out of one of the doors. Her hands were full of bread. She came to an abrupt stop when she spotted me. I wondered what she was doing with so much bread and was about to ask her when I heard a voice yelling from the room the girl had just exited from. She must of heard it too because she started to run past me into the stairwell. The woman who had brought me here burst through the same door the girl had come from. She looked infuriated.

"Where did she do?" She snarled at me. I stared at her blankly, not knowing who exactly she was talking about. I also didn't want to tell on the girl if that is who she was asking about. She stared at me, expecting an answer. What was I suppose to tell her? I didn't know who she was talking about or that a girl had just stumbled up the steps with arms full of bread. I decided to not say anything at all and just shook my head. The half-crazed woman looked even scarier now than she did in the carriage. She stomped past me and up the stairs.

I stood there trying to comprehend the scene that had just taken place before me but could not come up with an explanation for what it could possibly mean. I shook the thoughts from my head and decided that the doorway where the mischievous girl and scary woman had come from was probably the dining room or at least closer to the dining than where I was at now. Walking through the door did indeed bring me to the dining room. I was overjoyed to be so close to food, realizing that I had not had a proper meal since yesterday morning.

It was noisy in the crowded dining room with lots of other girls. They were all eating away at their dinners. I walked up to one of the empty spots and was ready to sit down when the girl from before appeared beside me. I jumped not expecting to see her again. She grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

"You must be new here. I'm Christine." The little blonde-headed girl dipped into a curtsey. I wasn't sure how to respond so I did my best attempt at a curtsy and mumbled my name to her. I wasn't sure if she heard me but her smile grew bigger so I figured that she must have.

"Can you keep what happened before our little secret? Madame Mesquine would have me over her knee if she knows." I nodded my head. It was a relief to finally know that woman's name. She sat next to me and started piling food onto her plate.

"Why did you take all that bread?" I asked her. My curiosity had encouraged me to ask.

"Oh. I …like to keep a little extra food in my room so that I can eat when I'm hungry. I share with other kids, too. It's kind of a secret, although Madame knows about it she has never been able to find my bread stash. So, thankfully she can't punish me." She explained as her cheeks turned a cherry red. I laughed. I had not expected such an strange explanation. I thought she just didn't like the bread or something similar not that she kept a secret soup kitchen in her room.

After we all ate dinner and cleaned up, Madame Mesquine approached me. I nervously watched her as she walked towards me. Her face seemed more serious than it was all the other times I saw her.

"Leila tomorrow your parents are to be buried. I expect to be up and ready early in the morning. You will meet me at the door at precisely 8:30. Do you understand?" She said. I was going to ask her about my parent burial. Relieved that she had brought up the subject, I slowly nodded my head in understanding. She quickly left after that. I walked back to my room wanting to be alone.

That night I didn't get much sleep. Between all that happened yesterday and all that happened today, sleep evaded me. Anytime that I closed my eyes all I could see was my parents, the policeman, and the scorpion seal. I had a feeling that the three were connected but could not understand how. I knew the only way to know was to read the letter inside my papa's box.

Walking down the depressing staircase did nothing to improve my mood. I felt like crying. I didn't want to go the funeral. I didn't want to watch as their bodies were lowered into the ground confirming my worst nightmare had truly come to pass. How would I go on? For the last couple of days, I could pretend that I was just visiting this place and that I would soon be able to return to my home and parents. But no, now I have to face the reality of it. My parents were dead and I was left with nothing but some clothes, a cigar box, and a hair clip. Why had this happened? Who killed my parents? I knew that these questions would haunt me till I had an answer. And at the rate that the police were going I knew that I would be haunted for a long time.

I stood by the door waiting for Madame. She soon met me and we silently greeted each, although I could hardly call her greeting an acknowledgement. She had hardly glanced at me. I climbed into the carriage hoping that this would all be over soon. I looked towards the sky feeling bitter. Why did it have to be so beautiful out? I hated that the sky was such a brilliant blue. There shouldn't be any beauty on such a tragic day. There are many memories that I have when the sky was just as blue. The day we moved into the nice, new home in Paris. The time my papa and I played in the yard. And the time my mama and I trimmed the beautiful rose bushes in the front. The sky was just as blue on all of those days but now those memories would be tainted with the tragedy that happened. I wanted to be able to remember those things without the pain but I knew that that would be impossible. The pain of this day will forever be laced into my childhood memories. I felt like crying again.

The service at the church was all a blurred memory of tears and agony. Now I stood next to the freshly covered graves not knowing what to do next. I had been given a bouquet of flowers by the priest. The bouquet consisted of beautiful purple orchids and white chrysanthemums. I decided that I would split the flowers between the two beloved graves. There was no special tombstone over their graves because we were not a rich family. We couldn't afford it. _I_ couldn't afford it. There were just two wooden crosses that marked the spots that mean the most to me now. I turned around to go back to the carriage but glanced back one more time before leaving and saw the cold, cruel wind blow off the petals from the flowers I had laid there reminding me of the love I had lost and thought that I would never feel again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the longish update. Thank you to all who followed/ favorite my story! It means a lot to me. Special shout out to Master Tigeress and sfuller1015 for reviewing! Please review people! You know who you are. :)**

Two years have passed since that day, the day that forever marred my innocent, childish mind. Eleven years old, on the verge of turning twelve, and I still felt as lost as I had that day. Madame Mesquine had become fed up with what she calls "my moping" and had decided that I was now old enough to get a job working elsewhere. I had begged her not to make me leave the orphanage but she was adamant about her decision. I felt devastated. The orphanage might not be my home but it was the place that I had been living for the last two years. I was actually starting to feel comfortable in my room but now I was to be thrust into a different place again.

Another reason, I felt so devastated about leaving the orphanage was that I would miss Christine terribly. The little blond with arms full of bread had quickly become my only friend in this desolate place. I had found out that Christine was two years younger than me but she acted like an old soul. From time to time her curious, mischievous inner-child would push itself out and she would do something that would get her in trouble, which would end with her stuck in her room without supper, but she always was prepared for that punishment. One of the best things about Christine was that she would comfort me when my grief would leave me bed-ridden. I hated those times. I felt like an invalid, although Christine would help me realize that it was a natural part of the grieving process. I connected with her because she too had just recently lost a parent. Her mother had died just after Christine was born and her father had died from an illness when she was seven. She had been in the orphanage for about eight months before I arrived. We took turns comforting each other and sometimes just ended up crying in each others' arms. When we weren't grieving, we would run around the house making up creepy stories about past residents or we would play in the yard, when the weather permitted it. But our favorite past time was telling each other stories about our childhood before we ended up in the orphanage. She would tell me stories of her travels throughout Europe with her father as they played beautiful music in fairs or on the streets, or stories of the magnificent Angel of Music. And I would tell her stories of my native country, Persia. That was usually how we wound up crying in each others' arms but it was so nice to be able to share beautiful memories with someone. When I would tell Christine about my past, I was not sad. It was when I stopped living in those moments when depression would creep its way back into my mind.

Sometimes when the pain of that day would keep me up at night, Christine would use her beautiful, sweet voice to lull me to sleep. Her voice brought a sweet sensation to the ears as a rose does the nose. I wished I could do the same for her when she couldn't sleep but I was not cut out for singing. My singing voice was the equivalent of the screeches of a cat that had been accidentally kicked. She didn't seem to mind but I still felt terrible. I would use my own method to lull her into slumber. I would tell the most outrageous stories I could think of, like the monster under the bed only wanted to be invited to a tea party and eat the delicious treats or that Cinderella purposefully broke the second shoe because she realized that the prince was shallow and vain and would rather spend the rest of her life cleaning up after her step family than be married to him. She would always giggle and laugh at these stories which made me happy because I knew she was happy. I hoped that she would dream of the tales instead of her dead father but I knew that it didn't always help. Sometimes nothing helps and she would suffer from a sleepless night. I knew the feeling well and I hated that she had to suffer from the same ailment. She was so innocent. She deserved to live a peaceful, quiet life with a husband who would always care for her and not ask anything of her. I hoped that one day she would end up with that life.

I would miss Christine terribly once I left. I hated that I would have to leave behind yet another part of my life in order to grow up. Madame Mesquine had started to search for a job for me about a month ago. I was relieved that she still hadn't found work for me but I dreaded the passing of each day because I knew that each day brought me closer to the time when I would have to leave. It made me sad to think that Christine would be lonely here. Hopefully, she would make new friends once I left.

I was ripped from my sorrowful thoughts by Madame Mesquine entering my room. She stood tall and regal before me looking like she belonged next to a queen rather than caring for unruly, orphaned kids. I tensed knowing that I was about to receive the news that I dreaded the most. I wanted to bury my head under my pillow and put my fingers in my ear just so I couldn't hear what Mme. Mesquine was about to tell me. If I didn't hear what she told me I could pretend like I wasn't going to ripped from yet another home. Why? Why did life have to be so cruel to me? Instead of acting like a child, I sat there waiting for the horrible news.

"I have found work for you. It is a nice job with decent pay and a room will be provided for you. You will be a servant to the household of the Vaniteuxs'." She informed me. She said it like it was a blessing but to me it felt like a prison sentence. "You need to pack your belongings. You will be starting work on Monday."

I wanted to cry. Today was Friday, which meant that I would be starting a new part of my life in just two days. How could I say goodbye to this part of my life when I haven't even said goodbye to the chapter of my life before I came to live in the orphanage. I contemplated taking Christine and running away to a place where we could life a simple life but I shook the thought out of my head before I could do anything rash. It was a foolish idea and it would never work. I reached under my bed to get my bag so that I could pack my clothes in it. My fingers finally found it and I dragged it out. I sat on my bed reflecting on the last time I held this bag in my hands. I tried not to think too much on because it disturbed me deeply every time I did. I took out my papa's cigar box and retrieved the thing in it that troubled me so much. I would read it but I had not become any better at reading French then when I first moved here. I could read simple sentence but once it started to become too complex my understanding of French faltered. I had thought about asking Christine or Mme. Mesquine to read it to me many times but never did. I never asked Mme. Mesquine because I was nervous about the content of the letter and thought that she might give it to the police if there was something in it. I didn't trust the police one bit. They had made no progress on my parents' murder and had closed the case. I didn't want them to take this letter and get my hopes up that they were making progress, only for them to crush my hopes of catching the person behind my parents' death. And I didn't want to make Christine read it because I didn't want to destroy her innocence. I didn't know what the letter actually said but I had a feeling that it was not a letter that had welcomed my family and me to our new country. So I had kept it a secret hoping that one day I could advance enough of my reading skills to read it or trust someone enough to have them decipher it for me.

I put the intimidating letter back into papa's cigar box next to my mama's beautiful hairclip. I wistfully stroked her hairclip becoming more depressed as I stared at my parents' belongings. I quickly jumped off the bed before I started crying in order to complete my task of packing. I pulled of all but two of my dresses out of the dresser and packed them away in my bag. I would leave my undergarments in the dresser till Sunday night.

I replaced my bag back under my bed so that no snoopy kids would dig through it. I made my way down the hall towards Christine's room dreading the goodbyes I would soon have to say. Christine was sitting on her bed brushing her dolly's hair. Her dolly was very special to her, probably her most important possession. It was the last thing her father had given her before he had died. He had told her to take special care of it and she had followed his instruction carefully. She would brush its hair everyday and wipe it down at least every other day. The other kids would make fun of her for treating it like a living thing but I understood why she did. It was her last physical memory of her father. If it got destroyed, all connection to her father would also be destroyed. That's why I hid my parents' hairclip and cigar box away, so that it would be safe. I sat on Christine's bed and waited for her to be done brushing her dolly's hair. She didn't look up at me until she was completely finished which meant that she braided its hair so that it wouldn't knot when she played with it.

"What's going on Leila? Why do you look so sad?" Christine looked at me with a worried face. I didn't want to tell her. She would be devastated. I picked at her blanket trying to come up with an easy explanation but I came up blank. How do you explain to a nine year old that her best friend had to leave her behind because I have to go work and that she would probably never see me again? I would try to write to her all the time but I had no guarantee that I would be able to see her. Mme Mesquine might not allow it for she would want Christine to move on. Mme Mesquine was not as cold and mean to the other kids I had noticed. She would not ignore them and act as if they were a nuisance. She was even kind to the younger kids. I knew why Madame Mesquine acted so unpleasant towards me. It was because of the color of my skin. She couldn't hide her disdain for me concerning my ancestry. She would try to keep me out of the orphanage as hard as she possibly could once I left. I wondered why she hadn't made leave earlier. All the other kids, except for Christine, gave me curious looks, as well. They knew I was different. I wasn't like them and they always treated me like it. I hated it. Without Christine, my time here would have been very miserable! I knew that I meant a lot to Christine, as well. She was too shy to truly be friends with any of the other kids. She liked being part of groups of kids but when she was with someone one on one she became very bashful. Christine and I had clicked right away and quickly became best friends.

"I-I am leaving, Christine. Madame found work for me. I have to leave on Monday." My voice became quieter the more I explained to her what was going to happen. Her face remained blank as she processed what I was telling her. When it finally hit her, she pounced on me wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. She cried on my shoulder repeating over and over how she didn't want me to leave. I stroked her hair trying to calm her but nothing seemed to work. I tried to stay strong in front of Christine but it was becoming harder as the minutes passed. Finally, it became too much of a trying task and I felt warm tears wet my face. We finally stopped crying when we realized that we were wasting precious minutes being sad. We needed to make new happy memories before I left. We jumped off of Christine's bed and ran down the stairs. I suggested that we go and play outside and wonder around the market place. Our tears were soon replaced by giggles and laughs as we played together, but on the backs' of our minds the heartbreaking news was still there.

The days passed quickly and Monday approached much quicker than Christine and I had anticipated. I slowly walked down the steps, counting each step as I descended. Fifteen steps down, a quick turn to the left and twenty more steps down. I waited by the front door for Madame Mesquine and Christine. Christine was supposed to meet by the door to tell me goodbye one more time before I left. I waited about five minutes before Christine appeared beside me with a tired looking eyes and a tear stained face. I quickly looked away not wanting to cry before meeting my new employer. We hugged for a long while quietly whispering our love for each other and our goodbyes before Mme. Mesquine approached. We let reluctantly let go of each other. Mme. Mesquine impatiently waited for us to say our goodbyes one last time. I exited the door feeling my heart breaking all over again. I was to leave another loved one in my past. I tried to be optimist about my future but without knowing my future employers I couldn't even began to imagine what my future looked like.

 **A/N:** **I know this chapter is short but I figure it's better than nothing. I plan to update soon with Leila's view of her new employers. What do you guys think of Christine? I originally wasn't going to put Christine in this story but I liked the idea of her and Leila being friends. Do you think I should have Christine reappear in Leila's life later in the story or should she stay in Leila's past? Please let me know if there are any mistakes. Thanks for reading!**

 **Side note: The new cover picture is how Erik is going to look in this story unmasked. The amazing picture belongs to Muirin007.** **She's on Deviant Art if you ever want to check out her other pictures. She has some amazing Phantom of the Opera pictures. I recommend that you go and look for yourself.**


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